Empok Nor
by Hayha
Summary: The Dominion War and its aftermath, as told by one Star Fleeter who fought in it.
1. Chapter 1

His home was known on Federation records as Deep Space 11 but most of the residents, visitors and workers knew it as its original name, Empok Nor. The bustling base now orbited Cardassia Prime and served a vital mission as the Federation command base for the Allied Army of Occupation of the former Cardassian Union.

As he inspected the promenade, he wondered how he had ended up where he was. His mind went back many years to answer that question.

It wasn't a far trip to Starfleet Academy. He ran the four kilometers, his clothes in a pack on his back. He left Grandfather's house half an hour before time to report, his possessions in a pack on his back. Grandfather had to go to staff meetings but Grandmother ran with him down the road through the main gate and into the Academy compound.

Others came in groundcars or transported in. They came from the outside. Since his parent's deaths he, his brother and his sister had lived with his grandparents by Star Fleet headquarters on Earth.

All his ancestors for seven generations - since when they left Trill in the Exodus after the Genocide Wars - had served in Star Fleet. They had served almost since the beginning of Star Fleet. As he passed the cemetery, he knew his parents and how many of his ancestors were buried here and their profound sacrifices. The ground he ran on was where heroes had trained for two hundred years. Now it was his time to put on his cadet uniform to join the long, gray line.

The assembly hall had a Star Fleet insignia carved into the wall. Beside it were three words.

**Duty, Honor, Galaxy.**

Above all the rest, that is what Star Fleet stands for. Inside, thousands of new cadets and their families sat. Simo and Grandmother took a seat. Simo looked around. Dozens of species were around him. Terrans, Vulcans, he even spotted a Ferengi set of ears and several Klingons.

Precisely on time, Admiral Normandy rose. She cleared her throat and said, "Only the dead have seen the end of war. There will always be wars. That is just the nature of things. Star Fleet Academy's mission is to make your sons and daughters fit to survive. Who is going to be a soldier? Who is tough enough, a true leader?

Star Fleet Academy is in the history business. We can remember back when Star fleet was popular. We can remember back then when it was unpopular.

The mission of Star Fleet Academy is to produce a commissioned leader of character. Star fleet is a profession. Star Fleet academy is the keeper of the holy flame of military professionalism. The fundamental skill of Star Fleet is leadership.

Our motto is Duty, Honor, Galaxy. Nobody said that it is duty, honor, galaxy but only when they love you. It is duty, honor, galaxy - period. We are servants of society. We do not choose which orders we obey or which laws we obey. The people have given the responsibility to us for that which they cannot do themselves, namely the defense of the Federation. Your sons and daughters will be challenged in every way. Their instruction at the Academy is designed to forge them, to strengthen their character and to create a community among them. That is because they are expected, both collectively and individually, to serve Star Fleet. We do not say that it will be easy for them, only that it will be worth it."

After she sat a male voice said, "Please take care of your farewells as you will be moving out in 90 seconds."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

Meetings, meetings, meetings, another meeting. He sat listening at one end of the long conference table in the base wardroom. Unfortunately this one was just enough related to his mission that he had to keep an ear open but so little related that he could barely keep his eyes open. Instead of looking at the screens showing the various vendors and the Marine project manager, he sipped his morning fish juice and looking out the window at the stars and the day breaking over the shimmering oceans and rich deserts of Cardassia Prime.

This meeting was about the delays in implementing a new forward base security system. As second officer, it was up to him to coordinate the shipping and local contractors. His mind drifted away from the droning buzz of constant bickering between the Marine major running the project and the Siemens Security Systems Ferengi project manager. The Cardassian installation contractor for the fence installs to his right yawned and doodled on his empty paper cup, struggling to stay awake. The Bajoran woman who ran the firm responsible for the communications network installs sat opposite the Cardassian, her eyes focused studiously at nowhere, her neat hands silently fingering prayer beads.

The Ferengi droned on, the computer translating his words. "The key sequence PADI for 'Peripheral Activation Detail Instruction' was specified as a reserve instruction to be sent only for security over-rides."

Major Cadman's face snapped around in her monitor window. "And this is causing anyone whose name starts with PADI to gain unlimited access to the entire base."

"The system specifications clearly state in chapter 37, page 73 that the key sequence PADI is only to be sent as a security over-ride."

"But Padilla is a common Terran name," Simo said. "Even I know that."

"What," said the Bolian clerical sergeant Cadman had on base, madly flipping between papers and screens.

Simo sounded off. "Padilla. P A D I L L A. Pah DEE yah."

"Thank you Sir," he said. "I wish everyone spoke that clearly."

Manuel Padilla, Simo thought. Now that was a name he would never forget. His mind went back many years.

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He could have run home from his bunk room at the Academy in under fifteen minutes if he had to, but by regulation as a cadet in Basic his only contact with the outside world of family was to be by e-mail. For him, everyone would be no closer than if they were a solar system away. Instead he sat and wrote just like every other cadet.

He spent most of his first days of Basic being issued gear, seemingly tons of it, and spent hours going in precise details on how to use it. He was given three pairs of boots, three pairs of shoes, five white over gray uniforms, five BDU and about 20 pairs of everything else. The others were confused, but he knew that goal of the first few days of Basic was to orient the new cadets into the Star Fleet way. Of course, the advantage of being a K'lee'ke was that he had been raised his whole life as if he was in Basic. He knew there were children of other races who had been on Starships, but they were isolated exceptions among species that were based on planets. His kind had no planet. This was the strength of his kind. They did not have to learn how the Academy's procedures for folding his underwear. He knew no other way.

According to the Inter-Species Equal Opportunity regulations, physical average standards were set separately for each species. Those averages set everything, from their schedules to food requirements to how demerits would be given for violation of grooming standards. In the earliest days of Starfleet, the K'lee'ke managed to get themselves set to the physical average of Terrans. It seemed logical. They looked far more like Terrans than Vulcans or Andorians or any of the other species who were going to Star Fleet Academy at the time. But it had a few advantages. This morning Simo was enjoying one of those. All Terrans were given five minutes to shave, make their beds and dress and get in line for physical training. As Trill males don't have facial hair as a secondary sexual characteristic they got a free extra minute and they always got a perfect score on shaving in any inspection. His room-mate was named Gav. He was a Tellarite. As a Tellarite male he got eight minutes to completely comb and trim his facial hair. It was never enough. Gav had to rush while Simo relaxed through his five minutes. But he was a good trooper. He had gone to a prep school on Telar, and so they had one of the three 'most squared away' rooms in the Company. He had high hopes for his company, Charlie Company. Everyone in Charlie is cool and the Cadre are ok as well. I am in 1st platoon 3rd squad. There was even a girl from the people, New Cadet Ahmanheimo in his squad. She was even cute. He knew that he was still years too young to call for the marriage brokers and had decided to wait until he was a Lt. JG as was customary. But he would definitely remember her for seven or eight years from now.

In the morning, they had a 10 kilometer run. It was an easy run, even on level ground. But a Deltan and a Betazoid had to drop out. Then they had the swim test. He was quite pleased, 250 meters in six minutes. But he was so tired he would have rather done another 10 kilometers on the road. It wasn't a great performance, but he tried. Some of the cadets didn't even try. They were called 'rocks' by those that did.

In the afternoon he went to the validation exam for chemistry, and was pleased with how he did. As he went with the others to a meeting on the honor code he was surprised that the others had struggled. He had never been a good student. Not a bad one just not a good one.

Eating time was very short in the mess hall. He had grown up with being told he could only take 4 chews before swallowing, but they actually enforced the rule in the mess hall and so he forced himself to always take small bites. However the food was excellent. That night they had fresh baked agelm bread, kalo root, anza, gagh, and philly cheese steaks. He was the Cold Beverage Petty Officer who has to announce the Cold beverage and state when the new Cadets are ready to eat. 'Chief Petty Officer the new cadets at this table have performed their duties and are now prepared to eat.'

After dinner, they went to the Kirk Auditorium to watch "The Battle of Donatu V," a classic holo-vid about the first war between Star Fleet and the Klingon Empire.

The first few days of Basic quietly passed. Each day had PT and then there would be validation exams. Each day there would be a lecture in the honor code. Their spare hours were spent in "memorizing knowledge," military quotes and doctrine from famous leaders of the past. Each night the cadets would have something to look forward to, a holo-vid or a fireworks show or prayer services. He was quite pleased with himself. He got a five on AP Calculus, Galactic History and Cardassian, automatic validation. He pulled a four on Chemistry, which was good enough that he could validate if he wanted to but the Cadre all advised him against it. Unfortunately his Klingon had been years ago on the Saratoga and he didn't make it.

It was fun and he was excited. There would be more road marches and soon he would get to do the repelling course and hand phaser qualification. With it would come the terror of every Trill, the gas mask test. But he had had drilled hard with the others in simulators and knew he could pass even that.

He was away from home and away from his family. Oddly, he found himself missing not his family but Bouncer and Sweetie, the two Trill Tyrant Wolves that his Grandfather kept. He wanted to curl up with them and give them a good scratch.

It was over a week before they actually left the Academy compound, and that was just to beam down to Patagonia for a Leader Confidence Course. He liked it. He enjoyed practicing the three basic types of movements, close crawl, high crawl and rush. He liked how the new phaser carbines felt.

Every Cadet had to be a part of an athletics team. The best got to be on the school team and play against other colleges, but everyone was on a team and had to compete. The big Terrans and Klingons all wanted to be on the North American rules Rugby team. Simo thought they looked like silly sissies under their heavy armor and helmets. Real warriors played football. Not North American football but what the rest of Earth along with Mars, Venus and Alpha Centuri called football. There was no armor. He's been clipped in the family jewels more than once by a ball driven from a fast kick, and that truly hurt.

He wasn't the biggest, but no matter what he always tried and always gave it his best, so he went to football tryouts in Archer stadium. He felt he did well as right offensive midfielder in the first half and left sweeper in the second half when they finally let him in to try, but it was a hope against hopes. The big Terrans looked far more impressive.

He tutored Gav in knowledge like Schofield's Definition of Discipline.

"The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment. On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy than to make an army. It is possible to impart instruction and to give commands in such manner and such a tone of voice to inspire in the soldier no feeling but an intense desire to obey, while the opposite manner and tone of voice cannot fail to excite strong resentment and a desire to disobey. The one mode or the other of dealing with subordinates springs from a corresponding spirit in the breast of the commander. He who feels the respect which is due to others cannot fail to inspire in them regard for himself, while he who feels, and hence manifests, disrespect toward others, especially his inferiors, cannot fail to inspire hatred against himself."

He had hated all those nights on the Thelev and the Saratoga when he had to recite it. But now he was glad. But he was surprised at how many things Gav didn't know.

He wrote home at least once a week, detailing the marches up the Sierra Nevadas and the day they got to throw live grenades. But he almost never got an answer back, and then it was only from Grandmother. He was sure Grandfather would at least send a word of encouragement when he made second round trials for the football team or when he wrote that he actually made the team, but not one word.

He missed Sweetie. No matter what, that big creature always loved him. She had ten centimeter fangs and could take his arm off with one bite. She stood almost as tall as he did, with a massive serrated sickle claw on both of her feet and razor sharp claws on her paws. Yet he never felt safer than when he slept in those same fuzzy arms, dreaming her simple animal thoughts.

But Sweetie wasn't there. Instead he and Gav prepared for their first SAMI or Saturday AM inspection. He went shopping with Gav in the base store to buy cleaning supplies. Gav's credit card didn't work and he had to pay for his personals. It was amazing some of the things Tellarites used in the shower. The Cadre said it would take about six hours of hard work to prepare for the SAMI. Besides a fifteen kilometer run, he was given his third haircut since walking through the Academy gates.

He validated Honors Cardassian. He spent hours on the holodeck with the other new cadets practicing unarmed close quarter combat. He was the only one to actually gouge the enemy's eyeball out of their sockets. Their squad was highest in their company in the twelve event Warrior Competition and their platoon was one of the highest among any of the New Cadets. As recognition, their squad got to eat lunch in the Superintendents tent, with Admirals Hastur and Leyton and several members of the President's staff. Their room made "Excellent" in the SAMI when few others even made "Very Good." Yet Grandfather never wrote back.

Half way through Basic, the Cadre was changed. He continued to send home happy news, about the regimental mass run across the old Golden Gate bridge and scoring the only two goals in Mass Athletics football and told how his new squad leader's was Sergeant Thelin and how he changed their motto to 'War hammers' in a shrill voice and one of those Andorian squeals. He knew if he wrote about Sergeant Padilla of his new Cadre that his letter would be intercepted and there would be an investigation and Padilla would be busted. Then he would be marked. He would have been the one that complained. He would not have taken it from an upper classman.

He had done nothing wrong, just said "Good Afternoon, Sir." When Padilla said, "It was a good day until you came along, Measles," it left Simo in shock. This was the 24th century. Well Earth's 24th century at least. They promised they were long beyond such barbarism. Most perhaps, but definitely not all.

The perspective was very different for Manuel Padilla. It had been a long day of babysitting the new cadets for him, a cold, rainy, foggy San Francisco Summer day. First they did a three K run with full pack, then ran their platoon through pop up phaser range practice. They had sat there for around for six hours, just waiting for everyone to finish. Some of the new cadets took seven tries and some didn't qualify at all. Cadets Weber and Milch sat with Padilla, all mad at the same thing. The alien cheats. Those aliens stole their way into the Academy, using all the trickery they could. Their families got them in and then made it easy for them. Everyone knew how those aliens were fed all the answers to everything in advance and got them medals they hadn't earned to inflate their records.

"I sweated on my own to make it to the Academy, " Padilla said, and he meant it. "My family was one of the founding families on New Venezuela. They went to establish a planet of humans, by humans and for humans. I went to Star Fleet Academy to protect the human race and I made it there the honest way. And what do I find? Inferior aliens in all the sweetheart positions, hobnobbing with the Admirals in the Commandant's tent because their families got there first."

Milch chomped on a ration bar, just as angry. "And they validate all their classes because they were given the answers in advance. They even get extra marks for perfect shaving. Of course they had perfect shaving, they didn't have to shave."

Padilla nodded. "There's one in my platoon. The way that skinny little nothing looks at me. And everyone knew the little spotted rat's grandpa was a big two star Admiral who got the Presidential Commission to petition for his admission. Well those stars wouldn't protect him in here."

Weber nodded, agreeing, but carefully said "The Academy had a strict no hazing policy, and that violation of it could lead to discipline."

"And the Academy has an honor code," Milch said. "A cadet will not lie, cheat or steal or tolerate those who do."

"Exactly. We wouldn't haze those acne spotted cheats," Padilla said. "We just won't tolerate their cheating. I am going to make sure the rat doesn't cheat on my watch." The mongrel had shot expert, first try. That didn't happen. And then he had the gall to give marksmanship advice to him. Where would the cheating end? There were so many of these inferior aliens who had stolen a seat at the Academy from honest humans. Already real people were a smaller and smaller minority. "He who rules Starfleet rules the Federation, and these aliens were taking over Starfleet," Padilla continued. "We must work to protect the place of the human race in Starfleet." It wasn't bigotry, Manuel told himself. It was self-defense of the human race.

Simo sat in his sleeping bag, PADD in hand, writing a letter to his Grandfather, when Sergeants Milch and Padilla came in. Instantly Simo stood at attention and saluted them.

"Are you going to greet us, Cadet?"

"Strike fast, Sir!"

"When you greet me you will sound off with a loud and thunderous voice and be confident. Do you understand? Try again."

"Strike fast, Sir," he sounded.

"You sound like a lily livered tribbles. You will learn the proper loud and thunderous voice of leadership and be confident. Give me fifty deep spread eagles and try again."

Simo was surprised. He could hear his own echo. But he wouldn't argue with Padilla. Instead he set his feet slightly apart and turned out, extended his arms and bent at the waist and knees, keeping his back straight and flapping his arms like wings. He had been doing the torturous exercise for years and knew how to do it to perfect form for Trill anatomy. Milch counted, until they hit twenty. "That's not the right way to do it, Hayha. Down all the way, then up. Start over," Padilla shouted.

Simo shook his head and began over. He knew it was to form. One, two, three, four. The outside of his knees were beginning to feel it. His muscles could still take it though. He could not complain or give up. Instead he would maintain form despite the pain.

Padilla said "Defeat is not an option, cadet. Start over. Down, up, down, up."

"Sir, those were conforming to form."

"Are you the senior officer, Cadet?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"Then do not argue. Start over."

Padilla leaned back, relaxed, as Milch sounded off. "One, two, three …"

Carefully, Simo followed the form of the drill. He knew he could do it. He was sweating but he was strong. He would continue. Somebody had to come in, but nobody did. Where was Gav? Somebody must be hearing this. He would get through this, Simo told himself. He would be strong. But at forty Padilla sounded again "That is not right. Start over."

Simo knew better. He knew what was regulation form. But he started over. And then he started over when Padilla stopped it again. Someone had to come. Then he started over again, and again and again and again.

By now Simo's BDUs were sweat soaked and his quads and thighs were burning, but he would not give up. He would outlast them. He was a Hayha.

"Lower," Padilla said. "Start over. This is a deep knee bend, not a dance step."

Down he went, and up. Down and up. His arms were shaking by now. His butt hurt. His back hurt. Then after how many hundreds of deep knee bends he no longer knew it finally happened. Everything failed all at once and he did exactly what a Trill will do when their body and brain reach complete failure – he went into Grand Mal seizure. He fell, twitching uncontrollably. A stream of vomit landed on Padilla's leg.

"You killed him," Milch said.

"None of this happened," Padilla ordered. "Nobody was here." They ducked out.

He lay there as Padilla tracked out the vomit, desperately trying to wipe it off his leg.

The pain was agonizing. He dragged himself onto his sleeping bag and stuffed his blanket in his mouth so he would not scream. He spent the night alone, learning that as a soldier your only companion may be your pain. But he would not surrender to them nor would he would rat on Padilla and Milch. Instead he would wait and have his revenge.

By morning, he had recovered sufficiently to appear at 0500 formation. He caught Padilla's eye as Padilla inspected the line.

He in the dark in his room. The only sound was his roommate snoring. He could not sleep. For days he had been fighting to keep his efficiency up. He didn't even feel like eating. Just making sure he put enough down was a chore. Gav knew something was wrong. He'd asked why Simo wasn't eating. He'd tried to joke back that Gav ate the food just because he was a Tellarite and Tellarites ate anything.

It had been steak with mushrooms. Gav knew better.

Padilla. Every time he saw that face he could feel his spots flush red. What had he done wrong to deserve it?

The other Cadre looked at him strangely, watching his every move. Were they all in on it? Were the all just waiting for another time to strike?

For years he had been tutored and trained for the Academy. He had run to exhaustion. He had swam holographic rivers. He had been gassed. He had memorized volumes of hideously boring quotes from ancient Earth military leaders. Of course he knew the risk of torture if he were captured in war. He'd heard family stories about the Cardassian and the Klingon prison camps. But nobody told him to expect the torture at the hands of his own leaders.

He felt betrayed, by his family and by Starfleet.

When he saw New Cadet Ahmanheimo he looked away from her, ashamed. She must know. What did she think of him? Did she consider him a coward who had disgraced the tribes?

The only thing that relaxed him was the vision of killing Padilla and Milch. He knew how. He had counted the ways. Improvising an explosive device would be simple but he risked killing the innocent. No, if they died then he would take nobody else. They must also know who had killed them. That was important. He felt the hilt of his Star Fleet issue survival knife. The Terran kidneys were so vulnerable. Stab, stab from behind and then a quick cut of their throat and sever their trachea. They would be silenced and paralyzed in pain before they hit the ground.

The next morning, everyone around him was packing and scrubbing and preparing. He was already packed. He had helped Gav pack. Gav was sacked out under his desk, snoring. Another squad mate was asleep in the chair and a fourth was on Gav's bed studying knowledge.

Simo had been taught as a child that it was better to be rested than to be tired. He did his best to convince himself that Padilla wouldn't strike with so many witnesses around. But part of his brain always seemed to be on red alert.

He had moved beyond thoughts of revenge. Now he just thought of Patriot's Day weekend. For a whole weekend, he would not have to eat with no more than four chews, do pushups, salute anybody or walk 120 paces per minute. Most glorious of all, he would not have to greet cadre.

He had faced death before at Wolf 359. He'd seen his father die. It wasn't that he was afraid of Padilla. He wasn't a Borg cube. Simo knew he could stop Padilla any time he wanted, if he were willing to pay the price.

He could fail. He could completely reject the Academy. He had freedom of choice. He could walk out any time. But that would let Padilla win with no cost.

Instead, right then and there Simo made his choice. He chose to make himself go to sleep.

While Simo dozed, Padilla, Milch and Weber met where Padilla was sure they would have privacy, at the grave of Admiral Archer in the Star Fleet cemetery.

"No more," Milch said. "We're lucky he didn't die."

"You're in it now," Weber said.

"And we succeeded," Padilla said. "The monster has been silent. He knows who is superior now."

Milch still shook his head. "Count me out."

"You can't get out. You'll be in as long as the little Admiral's brat is alive to point the finger at you."

"Bring it up to me again and I go right to the commandant." With that, Milch walked away.

"We have two to silence now," Padilla quietly said.

"What," Weber whispered.

Padilla nodded, pulling three small yellow cases out of his pocket. "I replicated these phaser prom chips in the engineering laboratory months ago, just to liven up a party." He held them up. They looked just like the trainer proms. "Just the form of the serial number is different, and you have to look very closely to notice."

Weber took one. "And these will turn a trainer into a live phaser?"

He nodded again. "We wait until the shooting starts. If you get a chance during Operation Warrior Force to nail one of them and nobody else is alone, switch to max kill. That activates it. Then you can switch back. Put it on min stun to go back to training. Once we score just eject the prom and destroy it by sticking the ration bar heater across the charge contacts. It will melt the whole unit in seconds. Lock in your trainer and you're away clean."

"This is heavy."

"It's us or them."

The next morning the entire platoon assembled in front of the transporter platform. They were forbidden to use any navigation equipment except a compass, a map, a watch and a passive sensor tricorder. They could go any place on Earth. For that matter, they could even be going off world, perhaps to the moon or Mars. Instead of the normal gray BDU, they wore jackets rather resembling a Klingon Marine's brown camos. Everyone expected it to be some sort of "red flag" exercise where one platoon fought another.

As they lined up for the transporter stages, Padilla and the other Cadre were handed their sealed orders. They were not to leave them until arriving. Everyone was excited. This sounded like fun. Padilla was tense. He'd planned everything perfectly, but there was always a chance something could go wrong so he ignored the beginnings of a headache and a cramp in his leg. Nerves he supposed.

They landed in the middle of nowhere. It was still day there, wherever it was. High hills and rocky gorges. Grasslands. It could be on a dozen worlds. Padilla and Thelin opened their orders. "We need to secure and hold that ridge to the East," Thelin said, hoping he was pointing at the right one. He didn't like depending on a little magnet to tell him which way to go.

As a new cadet, Simo didn't even get a compass and a map. It was morning still, only an hour or two later. It was a land of bare, rocky hills. The place looked familiar to him. He had been there. He would bet it was the Sonoran desert. Spiny barrel cactuses, towering saguaros and mesquite trees. He didn't need a compass to know which way was East though. Like all Trills, he could feel which way it was by the compass evolution had provided him.

When they went to fall in, Simo went right into the middle of the formation. There was safety in numbers, and in witnesses.

They marched. The sun grew higher in the sky and they got hotter under their uniforms. The drank water from their camel packs and marched. Their uniforms grew thick with sweat. As Padilla marched, the left side of his face began to tingle and the headache grew worse. He kept on. No little headache could stop him.

But the headache grew worse and his face began to turn from tingling to numb. He tried to remember when he'd ever had a worse headache and couldn't. But he knew he had to march on. He had to keep correcting himself to keep marching straight. He felt dizzy and he broke out into a sweat. He must have some bug. As he marched, he felt more and more awkward, like his left arm was completely exhausted. But he would be fine. He shot right handed. But his right eye was getting blurry from the stupid headache.

His chest hurt. He kept feeling like he was going to fall. The pack was so heavy. If only he could drop it off. But then they'd know something was up. Padilla kept on marching, passing cactus and plants, making his way towards where they all were going. He had no idea how long it had been. His heart pounded and pounded, until he toppled over unconscious.

Thelin had heard how labored Padilla's breathing and heart rate was and was right there by his side, pulling out his tricorder to assess the situation. Simo stayed with the other first year cadets, doing his best to look as concerned and confused as the rest. But he knew exactly what had happened. Grandfather had done it. He didn't know how, but it was Grandfather's surgically precise sadistic style. There would be no trace, but whatever it was he knew he would never have to worry about Padilla again.

As the cadets milled around while Thelin attended to his silent patient, Weber quietly drifted off himself as if he were going to urinate behind some rocks. When he was behind the rocks and out of sight of them all, he removed his phaser prom, jammed in the ration bar heater and kicked it deep under the sand.

By the time Thelin had Padilla beamed out, Weber was in the middle of the cadets. "Alright," Weber called in his best loud and thunderous voice. "Look alive. End of the party. Let's get back in formation. We are Platoon B, the Bone Crushers. We're not going to lose this exercise because of a simulated casualty. Get back in line, double time. We are going to get to that hill first."

That night, Simo was doing his best to look like a rock. He huddled under a dirt and brush covered blanket high on the hillside, watching the scorpions and listening to the coyotes. They had done very well, even one man short. They were in full control of the hill and A Platoon was nowhere to be seen. No doubt A platoon had orders to counter-attack and take the hill. If he were them, he would try to attack with an element of surprise and that meant a late night or dawn attack.

When Padilla was beamed away, Simo was appointed as his replacement. He was given a free hand by Thelin to organize for the night. Taking the lead, Simo ordered the establishment of a false camp on the only pass he judged that could be climbed. Five new cadets were sent to be the false camp. They kept a watch and kept campfires burning, to give the impression that's where the main force was and to light anyone approaching by that direction. They set up any extra clothes and sleeping bags to look like more people. The rest were dug in using the terrain as cover. Someone was lookout over all approaches but their focus was the pass and the camp. He had positioned everyone so they could remain concealed and still keep the false camp in their sights as a killing zone. He had tried to organize the watches to give an equal distribution of species with better vision or hearing or smell during the watches to try to give as much advance notice as possible. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Accept everyone's strengths and weaknesses and optimize accordingly.

He calculated that the careful positioning in defense of the hill should give them at least a six to one advantage over an equal sized group of aggressors. He was waiting and ready. He wanted to kick some A platoon butt.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

"Why do you want to leave Deep Space 11," Simo said. He sat in the wardroom. He didn't have a private office so he used it or the Captain's office when he needed one. This time only he and two engineering officers were present, two married Terran NCOs named Wyatt.

"We've made up our minds," said Mr. Wyatt firmly. They were Terrans, of the Northern or Caucasian breed Terran. He looked Simo through squinting eyes, his body spread as if to take blows.

Simo shrugged, leaning back to signal to Petty Officer Second Class Wyatt that he was not going to obstruct him and smiled to show acceptance. "I'm considering this as an exit interview. I'm not going to try to stop you. But I want to record why you two both chose to request transfers." He pulled out a tricorder to record exactly what they said. "If you don't mind. It really will help me."

"It's the same reasons everyone else wants out of here."

"Please. Tell me in your own words. Be polite but be honest. Tell me so I can take it up the line. Think of it as trying to help your replacements." He turned to Mrs. Wyatt. She was the base environmental controls specialist, a Chief Petty Officer with a very good record. He was just damage control and general maintenance that could be replaced but losing her would hurt.

Mrs. Wyatt spoke, tossing her hands up in exasperation. "This base is miserable. It's worse than a deep space assignment on a starship. We can't go down to the planet, and we're crammed in here. We need childcare. We will need schools. We need a pediatrician and a gynecologist."

"I've seen the plans," Mr. Wyatt said. "I know you're hiding it from the rest of the crew but you're going to cut the space for family NCO quarters again to make bunkrooms for more security crew."

"Tell me," Simo said. "If you had the rank and going to change things, what would you do and why?"

Leadership. It wasn't easy. It came in many forms. But it was necessary. He thought back to the beginnings of his experiences as a leader in Starfleet.

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"Attention all cadets there are two minutes until assembly for Breakfast formation. The uniform is as-for-class under grey jacket. This is the last minute to be called for this formation. Two minutes remaining."

He had been named the Cadet in Charge of minutes. This means that he organized the 24 plebes who alerted upperclassmen to the time of formations for each formation.

Life at the Academy had been much better since Padilla had been given a medical discharge since "a mysterious shower of blood clots caused multiple strokes." The Cadre all thought he did it. He could see it in the way they looked at him. He had studied the body language of many species and he could sense fear. Let them be afraid. All he had to do was remember that night in his tent when he could feel some Betazoid crawling in his brain. He let them come to their own conclusions.

Of course he couldn't thank the one who had given it all to him, but he could keep him up to date on how well things were going.

Dear Grandfather,

1 October

It's about 14:00 on Friday afternoon and I am done with classes for the day, however that doesn't mean this week is over. I have a big P code project due for IT105 on Monday but luckily I am almost done with it. So far I have really been enjoying the class. I got the best replicator program award and I have an A+ through seven weeks. Actually, all of my grades are pretty good, my lowest grade is B- in Klingon. Hopefully, my grades will stay up. My goal is to have a 3.5 GPA. Even though we get a ton of work to do its not that bad because there is nothing else to do other than study.

It might sound bad but I really don't mind it too much. We actually do have a lot of fun. Plebes (freshman) are easily entertained because we are deprived of so much. We get great joy out of giving the upperclassmen birthday parties, doing spirit missions, or even just watching the occasional movie when we are allowed. The days go by slowly, but looking back the weeks were fun and rewarding.

The other great thing about the Academy is that there is always something to look forward to, whether it is a football game or even just a spirit dinner or a B weekend, football game. We have plebe parent weekend coming up in 2 weeks which should be awesome.

Well it is Sunday night about 22:00. I slept in this morning because it's the only day we can. I spent most of the day doing homework, namely my IT105 project that is due tomorrow. I am quite happy with it. It's a whole navigation console control system. I reverse engineered a Cardassian one and it looks cool. I was very bummed about yesterday's football game against UCR. We were ahead and lost it because they scored with a couple of stupid late penalty kicks. This week would have been so awesome if we had won.

There are just two more weeks until Plebe Parent Weekend, so there is that to look forward to.

It's Monday about 20:20. I had swimming first hour this morning and I got a 100 on my last survival test, which was great. Now I just need to get a decent score on the one kilometer swim test and I will have myself an A. Tomorrow I have a honors Cardassian Oral/Written Partial Review. I'm so frustrated because this class is so ridiculously easy that I am not learning anything. I really like my teacher as an Officer. He is a Bajoran exchange officer, so all he is interested in teaching us cadets about the horrors of the Occupation. But I made up my mind that I am actually going to improve my Cardassian this year even if I have to do it on my own. I'm lowballing all the Cardassian novels and vids on eBay.

Tomorrow is Friday the seventh of October. That is awesome because it means the weekend is almost here and only one more week until Plebe Parent Weekend. Today was a bit rough however. I had a math quiz today which I am pretty sure I bombed. (its not that horrible because the lowest grade gets dropped) I had a really bad headache, and my freaking computer program that I wrote during the IT105 pop quiz wouldn't work. Then I got back my second Klingon essay. My professor said that I needed to come and see him about it. He told me that it was really lacking grammatically.

It is Sunday, the night of October 10th, one more hellish week until we get a little Rest and Relaxation. This weekend was actually pretty awesome because the Academy won its first game in its last 11 tries. We ended up crushing UNAM, 4-2 and I even scored a goal! After the game the entire Corp stormed the field and tore down the corner flagposts. They threw one of them in the bay and took another down to the Superintendent's house and I don't know where they took the others. They were crazy. Hopefully, tomorrow the team will get some reward for the victory like a week of no morning room inspections or maybe even a weekend pass. I may even be missing Sulo by now.

That's all for now, I hope everyone is well. Please scratch Sweetie and Bouncer for me.

Love, Simo

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Yet the weekend was not the warm family time he had hoped for. Even on Saturday and Sunday, Grandfather kept to his endless schedule of meetings. Grandmother tried to be there like she always did but she had her duties too and she was still of course forced to spend most of what time she had on Emony. Emony was worse than when he started the Academy. For hours on end, she paced the perimeter property with Bouncer, one of the two Trill Wolf Dogs that the Admiral kept. Simo was afraid Emony still wasn't right in the head from the Saratoga. Almost in tears, Grandmother finally admitted that Emony was in therapy and on medication. Simo knew that cracking that badly even after something like the Saratoga meant that she would be ineligible for the Academy. She probably wouldn't even be able to get a K'lee'ke genetic passport for having her own children.

There was no great reunion with Sulo either. As small as Simo was, his younger brother looked like his twin. People often mistook one for the other. Yet their personalities were completely different. Simo found himself avoiding his brother and his body sculpting and concern over his hair products narcissistic.

Sulo would have a lot of growing up at the Academy. It wasn't just that all his holographic porn vids were forbidden. Sulo thought too much of himself. Maybe he was smarter, but if he cut classes he would die. And the Academy wasn't about just data PADD learning.

He found himself spending most of his time with Sweetie and Bouncer. The fearsome guard animals stood almost his height and easily had twice his mass. He knew well that their massive jaws could snap an arm off. Their powerful legs had sickle claws that could slice a belly open and they could effortlessly run at 60 kph and the claws on their arms were razor sharp. Yet Simo slept in those same soft fuzzy arms, the simple animal thoughts of these marvelous creatures calmly and joyously mixing with his.

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Dear Grandfather,

It's Tuesday morning the 19th. Everyone here is very sad because Plebe Parent Weekend ended yesterday and now the upperclassmen are back and they are trying their best to make sure we remember we are still plebes. They have put up drop zones all over which are places where plebes must drop and do pushups whenever they step inside of one.

Its Thursday evening and this week has been flying right along. All I have for tomorrow is a Cardassian in class composition. This is our tenth week of academics. That means that ten week grades are coming out soon. I think all of my grades are going to be pretty good, with the exception of Klingon. We have only had two essays and a grammar test so far, which isn't much but unfortunately I did really bad on the grammar test. Oh well, as long as I don't get an F on the report. After all D is for diploma.

Here's a laugh. Gav was told on Friday that cadets who went to five non-mandatory sporting events would get a free weekend pass. Since this coming weekend is the only B weekend left in the semester he was trying to get them by then. He did a water polo game on Friday and then a football game, a volleyball game and a rugby game on Saturday. Then all the cadets got an e-mail that the extra pass thing is suspended until further notice. So he is just totally drowning his sorrows in ration bars.

This weekend is an A weekend, which means that all cadets have duties to do on Saturday. I don't know what we are doing yet but hopefully it will not last too long because I want to get a lot of homework done and then just relax for a while. The big rugby football homecoming against the Marine Academy is Saturday so no football game this week, but then next Saturday we have BYU away and the week after it's Gonzaga at home. Can you come at least for us against Gonzaga?

-----

He asked but even as he wrote he already knew that Grandfather would not be there. Some unexpected emergency would show up, as it always did. A football game was just too common and ordinary for Sulo, and Emony hadn't forgiven him yet for surviving. Maybe Grandmother would be there, maybe.

But he had to keep on trying.

-----

24 October

Ten week grades come out this weekend, and I am looking really good except for Klingon where I have a frelling D. I thought my first two papers were pretty decent, but I also bombed a grammar test. We have a midterm on Tuesday so hopefully I will do really good and get it back up to at least a C. I knew Klingon would be my hardest class going in but I wasn't expecting to have a D. (hey D is for diploma, right)

27 October

Today I had a Stellar Cartography WPR, which I found to be surprisingly hard. I'll probably got a B on it but I thought there was a lot of trivial stuff on it while all the things you actually need to know to navigate were left off. Anyways, this week I have been the laundry Cadet In Charge. This means that I basically organize the duties, such as delivering laundry every night. This is really the only time of the day when we still get hazed and yelled at. The upperclassmen ask knowledge and check their uniforms for deficiencies. Anyways duties have gone pretty good so far this week, and I think I have been doing a decent job as CIC. It is some good leadership experience, and the upperclassmen treat you as human being when you are in charge even if some dork Ferengi screws things up.

Today my Klingon teacher gave us a chance for some extra credit to bring up our Klingon grades which is great, and I also think I did really well on the midterm so hopefully my grade will get back up into the B range. I found out that I got an A- in plebe swimming, which is awesome.

I can hardly wait for time to be back home. I just want to curl up with Sweetie. I may even be missing Sulo by now.

Love, Simo

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Simo marked Halloween evening as the day he went from being an ordinary Plebe to someone recognized.

The mandatory dinner tonight was Halloween themed. Almost everybody dressed up in costume, but Simo was in his best Cadet grays because he had the opportunity to go to an Upper Classmen leadership briefing right after dinner. The briefing after dinner was by the Star Fleet officers who were the heroes of the Q'Maire massacre during the Galen Talarian border war. It deeply moved Simo to meet these heroic men and women who saved the lives of thousands of Talarian women and children who would have been massacred by if twenty years earlier five five junior officers didn't put their own lives on the line to stop Captain Johnson and the senior officers of the Bull Run. He would never forget when Captain Adislo shook his hand when Simo told him how he had always been one of his heroes Adislo said that he was the Galaxy's future that he must always lead with high moral and ethics.

The other plebes went to the Academy sponsored a Halloween dance party and then went Trick or Treating.


End file.
